Signs, Office Gossip, and Insanely Territorial People at Work

You know those super-bright plasma screen billboards they have beside highways now? The ones that usually cycle through a series of ads, and will burn-up your retinas at night? Well, there’s one alongside I-81 that I pass on my way home from work, and it’s relatively subdued — until it gets to an advertisement for an upcoming appearance by Bill Engvall.

The others have dark backgrounds, but the Engvall ad is white, with his big ol’ three-story high head in the middle. And it’s so bright, it takes the surrounding area from 2:00 am darkness to Miami noontime, in an instant. I don’t know if my car triggers it, or what, but it flashes every time I go past there, and I get so startled I nearly shriek and whip the wheel violently to the left.

Then I see Bill Engvall’s face whenever I blink, like a film negative. It’s burned into the frontal lobe of my brain or some shit. And I’d like to take that thing, ram it straight up his ass, and say, “Here’s your sign, shitlips.” Good god. It’s a wonder I haven’t ended up on the roof of an Arby’s, soaked in gasoline, and strapped to a burning bucket seat.

Tell me if you believe this story… Someone recently told me about a co-worker who uses some kind of rolling cart to do his job. The dude reportedly considers it HIS cart, and gets super-agitated if someone else touches it. Even though it belongs to the company…

Yeah, I have no problem believing that part. In fact, it sounds about right. People are dumbasses that way. Heck, I’d likely be the most cartcentric person in the whole place, if I was suddenly plunged into such a world. Hey, keep your filthy, funky-ass crack-scratchers off my cart! I can hear myself raging right now.

And I guess this guy was losing it, as well. His cart was never where he’d left it the day before, and he zeroed in on a certain woman, who he believed was using the thing during the hours he wasn’t at work. He’d rant about her, and the other employees would just roll their eyes, and tell him to forget it. It’s not his own personal property, after all.

But he wouldn’t let it drop. And he finally began removing the wheels every night before he went home, and locking them up in a file cabinet. Heh.

And on the second night of Operation Wheels-Off, the very same woman he’d suspected loaded the cart with product, gave it a big push, and did a full somersault over the top of the unyielding thing. She supposedly injured her spine, or her neck or something, and the man was fired the next day.

Can that possibly be true? It makes me laugh, but I have a hard time believing it. I can’t see someone going over the top of a cart like that, even though I enjoy the vision inside my head. And I don’t think it’s a fireable offense, either.

Have you ever dealt with the insanely territorial at any of your jobs? As I said, I can’t really be too judgmental, because I don’t like people messing with “my” stuff, either. But have you come across these types of people, who take it too far? (My actions are fully justifiable.)

I once worked with a woman who was addicted to signage. Her cubicle walls, and the adjacent area were littered with the many signs she’d posted. She wanted everyone to do things exactly the way she did them, and made her demands via Microsoft Word fliers. She was completely crazy, and lived with dozens of cats. I know that’s a cliché, but it’s also true in her case.

So, if you have anything on territorial co-workers, or sign-posters, or anything of the sort, please tell us about it in the comments.

Also, if you have any good office gossip, we’d like to hear that, as well. It doesn’t matter that we don’t know the players, because an office is an office is an office. Just tell us about it, and I have a feeling we’ll be able to relate.

And that’ll do it for today, boys and girls.

Just so you know… Nancy, Sunny, and the gang will be arriving on Christmas Eve. Sunshine and Mumbles could have come early, but didn’t exercise the option. So, they’ll all be descending at once. Stay tuned.

The gossip I hear at work usually has to do with me! That’s always pretty funny when you tell the person, “You DO know that I’m the one who’s _____, right?” the facial expressions alone are worth the price of admission. The utter realization that, yes my name CAN be shortened to about 8 different nicknames and that’s right, Tony is one of those 8, is like a bonus!

I picked up the phrase “ass over tits,” (which I think is a variation of the phrase “ass over head”) from The Pogue’s version of the song “The Band Played Waltzing Matilda.” I use it from time to time, because it’s the perfect descriptor for some situations. I think it’s British slang (?).

I was in a Navy squadron for a while, and it is a requirement to read the message board on a daily basis to see if you needed to provide a response to a particular message. The commanding officer (CO) and executive officer (XO) used red and green felt tip pens respectively, to make notes and assign responses. The color coding allowed everyone else to know who was writing the notes.

One of the junior officers (JO’s) decided to adopt this practice and chose BROWN as his signature ink. After a day or two of this, the rest of the JO’s began making rude comments or inappropriate remarks on various messages using a brown felt tip. This particular JO then went to the supply area of the squadron and took ALL the brown felt tip pens. So of course, we went to our sister squadron on the ship and “borrowed” some of theirs to continue the fun.

This went on for about a week and then the CO put the kibosh on it. As Jeff would say, “Good times!”

My mother belonged to some kind of community volunteer organization that would prepare meals at a homeless shelter on a rotating monthly basis, and once I went with her to help out. The way the job was described to me, it was supposed to be a strictly volunteer, everybody-pitch-in-and-do-what-needs-to-be-done type of deal.

In the spirit of helpfulness, I figured I would take what I assumed was the least desirable job in the kitchen: peeling and chopping onions. Nobody said anything against my plan, so I got right to work, peelin’ and a slicin’ and a choppin’ an epic pile of onions. About an hour later as I was finishing up, an old woman arrived in the kitchen and began yelling at me indignantly: I had taken her job! How dare I? Who did I think I was? What right did I have to come in here and take her job? She had come all the way up here! Now what was she going to do? She ended up doing dishes (mostly small utensils) and never stopped bitchin’ and complainin’ about what this interloper had done to her.

This was, incidentally, my first and last experience with community volunteer work…

Yeah, some of the guys at work are pretty anal about having stuff done in the right order at the right time with the right amount of enthusiasm. So, of course, the first thing I do is do the opposite. Unless I like them but mostly I don’t so it makes my day to ruin theirs. ‘Cos they’re dicks and they suck much ass. Does that make me a bad person?

We have a community lunchroom at my office, and one of the ladies from Accounting ALWAYS sits in a particular chair at the “preferred” lunch table/counter where folks tend to congregate at lunchtime. I started bringing my lunch to work and somehow my lunchtime evolved so that it overlapped with the Accounting folks. Said lady had a COW when I would be using “her” chair at the time her lunch group rolled into the room. A COW. “That’s MY seat, I’ve ALWAYS sat there!” Yes, I did respond with the obligatory “I don’t see your name on it”, but after a while and hearing her BITCH every single day about it, I eventually acquiesced in the interest of office peace. Sheesh.

My “assistant” left last Friday without saying a goddamn word to me or my compadre. Just the normal bye bye. I did know that she had put in her notice ’cause my boss called me the night before. We heard on Monday from another coworker that she had told someone at the bank she didn’t like us–actually she “couldn’t stand to be around us.” Every time I think about it, I go HMMMPH! Followed immediately by, Heifer. Heifer.

I used to always be the subject of gossip because I was nice to people. Yes that’s right, being nice and friendly apparently means you’re either DOING someone or you want to DO someone.

My boss asked me point blank if I was giving a lady at work more than just a car ride. I said I wish. I told her about it. She made sure she told her boss the exact same thing when her boss asked her (that she wishes she was DOING me). We weren’t btw. Doesn’t mean I didn’t wish I was though 🙂

Try defending yourself against this – Old job. My boss tells me the common belief in the office is that “hot fuzz likes everyone and gets along fine with everyone but –
– if you’re blond,
– have big tits (my bosses actual words),
– and flirt with him, then hot fuzz will try harder to help you sooner”

So am I
– a racist (saying blond in a culturally diverse office)?
– a sexist?
– Or just an idiot for staying there as long as I did?

I worked for an international company that had a factory in Wales. The general manager was giving a group of us the grand tour and stopped by the parts department on the way to tell the parts guy about something. To get the parts guy, you knocked on the door and the top half would swing open. He actually said “what” when he saw the GM and the group of us. The GM said his piece of info and the parts guys said OK and then slammed the half door.

The GM said not to worry, he’s like that with everyone. He’s extremely territorial with the inventory and the parts room. Like, male lion territorial.

The part guy’s weekend worker couldn’t make it in one weekend so they just left the parts room open for the machinists to help themselves as needed. So come Monday morning the floor, shelves, desks and counters look like a band of monkeys had had an orgy.
– boxes ripped open
– parts all over the floor
– a trail of fuses from the far side of the dept to the door
– a bundle or 100 gloves split open and left all over the guy’s desk
– a lubricant spill… and tracked all through the department
– same lubricant spilled on the parts surrounding where the leak happened
– a whole shelf of small parts taken out of the rack and left on the counter (I guess it was easier to find the one small part the machinist needed)
– stack of papers covered in same lubricant and tracked all through the department

Generally, the machinists just acted like a bunch of inconsiderate pricks.

When the parts guy came in Monday he went to every single person that had worked the weekend, stood nose to nose with them (he’s 6’1″ of attitude and muscle) and said to each -“if you ever go in my parts room again, I’ll fuck you”
It must have been a rumor because he was (justified or not – not for me to say) never fired.

Het you just reminded me a of guy that I worked with who was EXACTLY like that. I actually liked him ‘cos he made me laugh how he did that and helped me with my job when I needed it. He didn’t care how it was wanting gear from him, it was always: WHAT? Nothing before or after and if you rang his bell more than twice he would yell,REALLY yell, from the back of the store room: FUCK OFF!!!!!
Wish I could do that.

I run a storeroom for Ohio Edison and when I’m not there during the weekend the linemen come in and ransack the place! Eat all the cookies etc. Take whatever they want, and in general create mayhem for me to deal with when I come in on Monday. I wouldn’t care but my bosses are holding ME liable for accurate inventories. Arghhh what a headache it is dealing with these Manboys! But I love them all and they work hard to keep the power on for everyone. I can’t stay mad at them and I try to be tough but they see right through it!

When I worked in a call center we had to share a workspace with the previous shift person. The guy who sat next to me would bring in a grocery sack of stuff everyday and decorate his space before his shift started. Toys, pictures, what have you. It was like he was decorating the set for a kids movie. Then at the end of his shift he would pack it all up. Very strange.

I’m the territorial guy at work. Don’t touch my tools, and stay the fuck outta “my” van.
Why? I hate getting to a job only to discover somebody else used the last part on the van. Took a tool without putting it back. etc. without leaving a note that the last part was used and needs to be restocked or they fucking ruin tools that I’ve managed to keep pristine over the course of my employment so that I can always count on using something…

At my last job, my supervisor was insane and territorial like a motherfucker. I think she sprayed our office like a dog or a cat….

More than once she flipped out at me for posting memos from one of our managers….

It got so bad I had to go to hr.

Every time I’d post something she’d rip it down cursing me out, tear the memo up and throw it around the office. Then she’d print out the same one and scrawl on the bottom in angry magic marker “posted by Margret, the SUPERVISOR!”….

She’d then spend the better part of her workday talking about me to our coworkers.

Yikes. That’s pretty childish. I would not have been able to resist making a fresh copy of the memos and re-posting them without the silly comment, just to watch what happened. Yeah, I probably would not have worked there very long.

I’m known for being protective of my own tools, but that’s a different thing. Too many jackasses just pick up whatever they need, wreck it, then return it. Or not even bother to return it. Screw those fools.

Not work related, but my Mom played bingo every week, always at the same spot at the same table, and God help the newcomer who sat in her place! And every once in a while, someone would take HER chair. She would raise hell, and go searching for it, and whoever had it had to bring it back.

Also worked in a bookkeeping department, and one of the machines was like the personal property of that operator. No one sat at it but her, even if she was off. And because I was new, I always got stuck with the machine that was just about out of paper, or didn’t work right. Hated that job.

My connection to the world spit-up early yesterday and didn’t recover until about ten minutes ago. So…

Lori…

While I bear little physical resemblance to Leo McKern, I do share some characteristics with the character created by John Mortimer. So if you’re comparing me to the TV series you’re probably not so close, but if you view me as the Horace Rumpole Mr. Mortimer created, you’re probably on the right track.

Working at a car dealership, the only employees who get territorial are the mechanics, some of them anyway. They want their tools a certain way, and their massive rolling Snap On tool boxes are verboten.

I needed a Phillips head screw driver to fix a file rack in my office. So I walked into the shop and asked a mechanic if I could borrow one. He said sure and I started towards the tool box. He literally sprinted ahead of me to stop me from actually opening a drawer. Acted like I was going to kidnap his baby or something.

He handed it to me with the condition that he needed it “right back”. Yep, stealing that screwdriver had been my plan all along.

Most people open their mouth when they start a conversation. My employee starts his with a finger knuckle deep in one of his nostrils. After a few rapid and violent twists, he will ask a stupid question. This is disgusting enough, but he was a habitual user of my tools.
Being a faithful reader of the wvsr, I employed the term “booger hooks” when asking where the f*&k my screwdriver was. (Lodged booger?). I solved the borrowed tool issue by buying him his own set of tools. The other issue has not been solved, but the style has changed in a way that gives me great pleasure. He now picks his nose while facing away from me, talking and looking at me from the corner of his eye. Think, ‘dog that has crapped your rug, but you haven’t found it yet’. Pass the beer nuts (but wash your hands first).

Since paper is made from wood, I try to tell myself its still woodworking, only less dust. I still do about 30% hands on. Most of that is guilt ridden, since I know my time is better spent running the business. It sounds like you’ve been there before.

I am pretty territorial at work – I teach at a university so we share the computer labs and it drives me batshit when the last prof/lecturer leaves the chairs everywhere, the printers are out of paper, computers not logged off, etc. It isn’t like our janitorial will do any of that so it pretty much just stays fucked until some poor sap (i.e. me) fixes it and puts everything away.

And it does spill over into my home life too. God help you if there is trash in “my” van.

My uncle Ray told me a funny story about his work place. He was a Machinist and there was a guy who used the same stall each day; it was an unwritten rule. So one day they got large boots and old overalls (as if someone was ‘occupied’) and put them in the stall (locked). He was running around the shop trying to figure out who it was that was ‘reading the Sunday Paper’ in his stall. He finally kicked in the door a few hours later.

Oh and I agree with those who said they try to stay out of the office politics. It doesn’t help – they will find a way to draw you in. Last year a friend of mine from work posted about “needing luck” for an upcoming meeting, so I posted “good luck!” to her (nothing more, nothing less) and it turned out she was bitching about a co-worker and had to meet about this person. I didn’t know that, and even if I did, WTF is wrong with saying “good luck”????

Anyway, the co-worker in question went on my friend’s site and printed off the entire string of correspondence and next thing you know I have a disciplinary meeting with the dean. Needless to say, I don’t even go to the holiday parties. If I can’t even say “Good luck” on someone’s Facebook page then I am done with this situation. I will just go to work and come home.

During college I worked security for a large industrial facility. Not your average rent-a-cop gig as this one had some pretty serious safety and security issues because of the work done there. It wasn’t just your average bunch of fuckwits guarding a widget factory just to satisfy the insurance company.

Raymond had a chair he was extremely territorial about. You didn’t sit in Raymond’s chair nor did you move Raymond’s chair. You also didn’t take Raymond’s note pads without replacing them. If Raymond didn’t have a notepad at his station in the proper location there would be hell to pay.

Wade had his own special hardhat. It looked like all the rest of the “Site Security” hardhats we had to wear to enter certain areas but Wade had claimed this certain one. Legend had it that Wade acquired the thing with his own money but no one knew for sure. In any event you didn’t touch Wade’s hardhat.

Harvey’s clipboard, Harvey’s scanner and Harvey’s Section 4 gear. Harvey would utterly lose his shit if these were used by someone else. If he found out someone had used his shit then he’d raise holy hell until they were replaced with new items.

The only things I got pissy about was the parts of my Section 4 gear which were non-standard. My boots were 15 wide and my protective gear was all extra tall and extra big (I was 6’8″ and 325-375 pounds at the time) and they didn’t normally stock stuff that size and it was a real hassle to replace. The other stuff was a simple req order and could be replaced on any weekday but my shit usually had to be ordered.

I work with some twit who spends way too much time color coding her shit. The highlighter must match the colored paper clip, etc. But it gets worse – she also uses about 4 different color inks in her notes to emphasize certain shit. Red for URGENT, blue for To Do’s etc. Sad part is, this total waste of time doesn’t even get recognized by her COLOR BLIND boss.

We have a problem with pens walking off. Some of the office guys are very particular about their pens and we need to discuss this every morning. Lately they have been collecting crap pens almost out of ink and placing them for easy access….ha ha. I am thinking about buying them qualtiy pens for Christmas since they mean so much to them! I think I should steal their good pens just so I can laugh inside when they have a fit about it!

Unrelated…… but we have a lovely young lady working as a clerk in our office. She made the mistake of saying that mice totally creep her out. I bought one of those real fur mice cat toys and put it in her pen drawer. She almost crapped her pants when she opened the drawer….ha ha. I just loved it! she was a good sport about it. I guess I have a twisted sense of humor, I have had pet mice before!